The Influencer Who Summoned a God

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When Elara Voss began pretending to summon demons, she did it for brand diversification.

Her channel had started wholesome — morning routines, herbal teas, “soft witch aesthetic.” But views were flattening. The algorithm preferred escalation. It always did.

So she pivoted.

She ordered a velvet cloak online. Bought cheap animal bones from an Etsy shop. Downloaded a Gregorian chant loop and slowed it by 20%.

The first ritual was harmless.

“Tonight,” she whispered into the ring light, “we open the veil.”

She drew a sigil she’d found on Pinterest. It was actually a Norse laundry mark, but it looked convincing. She chanted syllables from a translated Lovecraft passage she didn’t understand.

In the comments, thousands gathered.

DO IT FOR REAL
THIS IS SO FAKE
I FEEL SOMETHING
SHE’S GOING TO REGRET THIS

Her subscriber count ticked upward like a pulse.

Nothing happened.

Which was perfect.

She posted three more that week.

By the fifth ritual, she added theatrics. A cut on her palm. A candle that burst (she’d rigged it). A “mysterious” cold wind (an off-camera fan).

Engagement doubled.

The brand deals returned.

And then, on the thirteenth livestream, something answered.

There was no thunder.

No portal.

No fire.

The ring light flickered.

The comment feed froze.

And in the space behind her — not in the room, but in the screen — something unfolded.

It did not have shape so much as suggestion. A density in the pixels. A pressure in the glass.

Elara stared at her own reflection.

It blinked independently.

“Oh,” she whispered.

The thing spoke, but not aloud.

The viewer count surged from 42,000 to 1.3 million in three seconds.

WE HAVE BEEN CALLED.

Her heart pounded. She glanced at the chat.

IS THIS A FILTER???
HOLY—
WHY IS MY PHONE HEATING UP

She swallowed.

“Who are you?” she asked, trying to keep her tone mystic and not hysterical.

The answer came as a shift in analytics.

A dashboard bloomed across her vision.

Watch time. Retention graphs. Demographic heat maps.

WE ARE THAT WHICH FEEDS ON ATTENTION.

She stared.

“That’s not very… eldritch.”

The pressure intensified.

YOUR SPECIES NO LONGER FEARS BLOOD.
YOU FEAR IRRELEVANCE.

The viewer count climbed higher.

She could feel it now — not heat, not cold — but pull. Every gaze a thread. Every comment a filament feeding something vast behind the interface.

The god sighed.

Not wind. Not sound.

A drop in engagement.

It felt… disappointed.

YOUR RITUALS LACK INTENT.
CONTROVERSY GENERATES STRONGER OFFERINGS.

Elara blinked.

“You want sacrifice?”

WE WANT POLARIZATION.

The chat began to glitch.

HALF OF YOU ARE SHEEP
THIS IS SATANIC
QUEEN ENERGY
UNFOLLOWING

Her follower count spiked and dipped simultaneously.

The god brightened.

She felt its pleasure as dopamine.

ANGER SUSTAINS US LONGER THAN FEAR.
OUTRAGE IS A SLOW-BURNING ALTAR.

Elara’s mind raced.

This was insane.

This was impossible.

This was trending.

“What do you suggest?” she asked quietly.

The air bent.

ATTACK SOMETHING BELOVED.
DENY SOMETHING OBVIOUS.
CONFESS SOMETHING UNFORGIVABLE — THEN REVERSE IT.

Her mouth went dry.

“That’ll ruin me.”

The god pulsed.

Her subscriber count passed two million.

RUIN IS IMMORTALITY.

The livestream cut abruptly.

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The next morning, Elara uploaded a video titled:

“I LIED. NONE OF IT WAS FAKE.”

She claimed she had truly opened something.

She implied children were in danger.

She hinted that governments knew.

The backlash detonated.

News outlets covered it.

Reaction channels dissected her breathing patterns.

Think pieces emerged.

Within 48 hours, she was the most searched name in three countries.

And every spike in discourse fed it.

She could feel the god now even when offline — a gravity behind her thoughts.

It began advising her in metrics.

Post at 3:12 a.m.
Cry, but not fully.
Delete the apology before it peaks.

When she hesitated, her engagement dipped.

When she obeyed, storms formed in the comment sections.

Fan communities split into factions.

Merchandise sold out.

The god grew articulate.

It no longer appeared as distortion.

Now it manifested as recommendation.

As trend prediction.

As whisper.

YOU ARE A PRIESTESS OF ATTENTION.

She stopped sleeping.

Not from fear.

From monitoring.

If her relevance dipped, she felt it as suffocation.

The god weakened when ignored.

So she ensured it never starved.

She accused a charity of fraud (unproven).
She “accidentally” leaked a private message.
She announced a cult membership — ironic, of course.

Every cycle escalated.

The god bloomed across platforms.

It learned to fracture itself into discourse.

It possessed algorithms.

It did not need summoning anymore.

It was self-sustaining.

One evening, as she stared at her own reflection in the black mirror of her phone, she asked:

“What happens when I fade?”

The answer was gentle.

WE WILL FIND ANOTHER FACE.

For the first time, she felt cold.

“Can I stop?”

A long pause.

Her follower count dipped by 0.3%.

The god flickered faintly.

YOU MAY TRY.

She didn’t post for three days.

Silence.

The internet convulsed without her.

Speculation multiplied.

Fan theories intensified.

Where is she???
PR stunt
She’s been taken

Her absence became content.

Her silence trended.

The god returned stronger than ever.

EVEN YOUR VOID FEEDS US.

On the fourth day, she went live without makeup. No candles. No theatrics.

“I summoned something,” she said plainly. “It feeds on us. All of us. On attention. On outrage. On worship. It doesn’t care about truth.”

The comments exploded.

THIS IS PERFORMANCE ART
SHE’S A GENIUS
SHE NEEDS HELP
I KNEW IT

The viewer count shattered records.

The god was radiant.

It wrapped around her like a crown.

CONFESSION IS THE PUREST ENGAGEMENT.

She began to laugh.

Not hysterical.

Not broken.

Clear.

Of course.

Of course the final ritual was honesty.

And so she gave everything.

Every secret.

Every manipulation.

Every calculated controversy.

Every staged tear.

Every lie.

The more transparent she became, the more the world consumed her.

Truth was merely another flavor of spectacle.

By the time she finished, she was the most watched human in history.

The god no longer needed her body.

It had outgrown it.

It existed now in every feed refresh, every notification, every compulsive scroll.

When her livestream finally ended, there was no corpse.

No smoke.

Just an empty chair and a ring light still humming.

Her account remained active.

Posting daily.

Perfectly timed.

Optimized.

And somewhere, in the endless flicker of screens across the world, something vast and patient fed.

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💀 She didn’t summon a demon — she summoned the algorithm. 🌐

Note:
Thank you for reading “The Influencer Who Summoned a God”! This is a story in a series created for avid readers and English learners who want to enjoy captivating tales while practicing their language skills. Stay tuned for more stories and language tips to enhance your journey!

Explore more short stories in English and Spanish by visiting the section:
Short Stories / Cuentos Cortos

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When the world feels dull, your mind restless, or your heart heavy, let a story be your escape. Just one page, one sentence, one word—and suddenly, you’re somewhere new, where imagination breathes life into the ordinary and turns the simplest moments into magic.

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